


A Morning Interlude

by turningoverwill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 20:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17669684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningoverwill/pseuds/turningoverwill
Summary: A little early morning interlude as Jon and Daenerys sail north towards White Harbour.





	A Morning Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I posted this to tumblr a few weeks ago, and finally decided to take the plunge and post it here. All mistakes are my own, as is the mood board. I hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> I also just wanted to say a massive thank you to the wonderful justwonderingneverlost for helping me with the mood board and posting here in general. You are an angel and I really appreciate it! ❤

 

 

 

 

 

“Why don’t you paint a portrait? Then you can gaze to your heart’s content.”

 

Despite being half muffled by his pillow and bed furs, the hoarse grumble still manages to startle Daenerys from her idle staring. If she were less attuned to him, or indeed herself, she may have felt a burn on her cheeks, and denied what he accused her of. Instead, she gives a small shrug in reply when she sees he has flopped over onto his back, a coy smile forming on her face.

 

“Mmm, any portrait would make for a poor imitation when compared to you. It would feel as though I were looking at a mummer’s ruse.” She allows herself a quiet laugh at his scoff, before standing up from the small vanity and making her way to sit beside him on the bed. He shuffles closer, rolling onto his side. He bends his elbow and rests his head on the palm of his hand. She leans down to press a chaste lingering kiss on his lips as his free hand grabs hold of one of hers. She pulls back before he can deepen it, and she can feel the giggle bubbling in her throat at his pout. Before she can begin to formulate a gentle tease, he yanks her hand so she falls fully onto the bed, and Jon rearranges her so she is sprawled on top of him.

 

“Is there something I can help you with? Or is that you take pleasure in handling Your Queen in such a manner?” The words leave her as she dips her face towards his, her mouth but a breath away from his.

 

“Both, really, but you can help us both by taking off your robe and coming back to bed.” His voice is low as he answers, pushing his head toward her in an effort to close the distance between their mouths. Before his lips reach her, Dany pushes herself up so she is straddling him over the furs, her hands placed on either side of his head.

 

“And how would me disrobing be beneficial for the both of us?”

 

“You’d be naked.” Daenerys is unable to suppress the joy that overtakes her face at his blunt reply. She tries to restore a more stoic expression, but she can feel it slipping at the delightful amusement coursing through her.

 

“But how does that benefit _me_?” She can see the mirth lighting his eyes, betraying the look of exasperation he is trying to force on his face.

 

“Easier for me to ravish you, Your Grace.”

 

“Hmm, and that is something you think I would enjoy?”

 

“That is something I _know_ you enjoy.” She lets go of the laugh that she has been holding, a lightness so wonderful overcoming her. She wishes it could be bottled up, so as to be brought out to remind herself of this feeling during the oncoming inevitable dark days. To remind them both, she thinks. She knows that he is rather prone to brooding, this King in the North. He may have bent the knee, and that he is now technically her Warden of the North, but she cannot bring herself to think of him so. He still holds himself as a king should. To her, however, he is Jon, just Jon; _her Jon._

 

“Did you rise to brush your hair?” His hands cup the back of her head, his fingers moving through her tresses. Moving to the side of her head, he starts a gentle massage and she cannot help the way her head leans into his hand, eyes closing, encouraging him. She is unable to withhold a shiver of pleasure at his ministrations, or the quiet moan of contentment that hums through her body. Her eyes pop open when she feels the pressure of his hand lessen, and she feels breathless at the utter adoration she sees shining back at her. She leans her face closer to his, her lips a breath away from his.

 

“I am aware of how fond you are of running your hands through my hair. I simply wished to aid you before we tangle it again.” She closes the distance between them and presses her mouth against his, a light nibble of his lips before retreating slightly. “I am hoping, however, that you will allow me to comb your hair today. I find it too pretty to resist, and I think a braid would look particularly fetching. I do recall you gave me permission. In fact, at the time, you appeared rather eager to have me style your hair.” Jon’s answering guffaw has her beaming. She’s moving then, as he removes the bed furs from between them and is rolling her underneath his body; the whole of him pressing up against her, the feeling delicious, the quiet ache within her building, beginning to drum louder.

 

“I think you will find I would have agreed to anything you asked when you extracted that particular promise from me. I would hardly call that a fair bargain, hmmm, Daenerys?” The merriment in his eyes betrays the stern expression slipping from his face. She tilts her hips further into his and revels in his quiet groan.

 

“You would deny Your Queen, Jon Snow?”

 

His face grows serious as he replies. “I fear I am past the point of being able to deny you anything. You need only ask me and it is yours.” Her breath catches in her throat, her lips meeting his in a bruising kiss, a kiss biting with love and truth; a kiss Dany wants to imprint on her soul. Her hands move from his shoulders to run through his hair; gripping tighter and tugging, matching the fierceness with which their lips are claiming each other. They break apart, both breathless and reeling, the intense look of love in Jon’s eyes mirroring her own, Daenerys is sure. She wants to confront the word they have avoided, the emotion that she knows passes between them. But she will wait for the cover of darkness, the comfort it provides them both when sharing pieces of their past; to shield them both from vulnerabilities they have worked to hide from the sight of others. To not feel even more exposed by the harsh glare of sunlight.  

 

She tries for reassuring leivity, not quite ready to admit that they should both be readying for the day. “I should like to enter my chambers this evening and find you here waiting for me. Sitting at my vanity, perhaps?”

 

Jon leans down, his nose nuzzling hers. “Tell me, Your Grace, if someone were to discover me waiting in your chambers, without your presence, would they think I were taking liberties with The Queen? Would they accuse me of trespassing?”

 

“I do not think there is a person left on this ship who is not aware that I want to find you in my chambers. That I enjoy having you in my chambers.”

 

“Aye, I don’t think anyone can be confused about that. At least not on this ship. We have not tried particularly hard to be discreet.”

 

“And what of the Northern Lords? Your family? Will they think the Dragon Queen has seduced their king into bending the knee? What if I should happen upon you in the Lords’ Chamber in Winterfell instead? Would it then be I accused of trespassing?”

 

“Perhaps, but not by me, at least. My sister, however, may have something to say if you appeared at her door.”

 

“Your sister’s door? Lady Sansa has the Lord’s Chamber?”

 

She feels her brow quirk at his nod. “After we took Winterfell, I had the room prepared for her. It was her Mother and Father’s room. After everything she had suffered in Winterfell, in her home, I thought it could have been at least a small comfort to her. Besides, I may have been proclaimed King, but I’m no Stark.” Something flickers in his eyes, fleetingly, matching the small frown that flashes across his face. He continues before she can question him, “In any case, I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable in those chambers. I am sure Lady Stark would turn wherever she rests if I were to take up residence there.” His explanation is followed by a small shrug, a look of practiced indifference crossing over his face. “I took Robb’s old room. Those chambers are nicer than the ones I had as a boy before I left for The Wall.”

 

She wants to question him further, to dig deeper into the ghosts he has, to comfort and soothe them, to wrap herself around him and show him that his name, or rather lack of do not matter. That the circumstances of his birth are immaterial. That it is the man, this glorious man in front of her with all his notions of honour and courage, with his mess of contradictions, that frustrate yet intrigue and excite her, that she has fallen in love with. The man Jon Snow is with his truth and bravery; he is who she yearns for. Daenerys decides to wait until the evening, _that evening_ , for the blanket and security the night provides before she will inquire further into his past. _So many things waiting to be discussed under the icy glow of the moon_.

 

Her hand drifts to the vicious scar over his heart as if betraying her most burning curiosity. She will wait for him to talk about this, for him to talk about what must be his most painful memory. She traces the length of it softly before looking up to meet his eyes. Before he can lean down to press a kiss to her mouth, she makes a request. She wishes she could banish the painful memories from his childhood, the hurtful comments and disapproving looks a small child could never hope to understand. She wants to love him in the place he most likely loved, while never quite feeling a sense of true belonging.

 

“When we reach Winterfell, will you show me your old room, the one you had before you left for the wall?” She notices a look of confusion cross his face, before adding a whispered “please”, and he nods before leaning down.

 

“As I said, I think I am past the point of denying you anything. My heart is yours.” Her heart stutters at his declaration and the look of pure love shining out of the depths of his eyes. It is instinct as she reaches up and closes the distance between them. His body settles against hers and Daenerys marvels, not for the first time, at how safe and loved Jon makes her feel, at how cherished she feels in his arms. They are completely wrapped up together, lost to their awareness of the other, and Daenerys wishes it could last forever; _that it will last forever_.

 

It’s an incessant knocking that filters through her senses, and pulls her away from their kiss. A quiet “Your Grace” reveals Missandei to be on the other side of her door, and Daenerys feels a weight settle over her at realising their early morning interlude is at an end. She knows, however, she cannot let him leave before she shares a little of her heart with him, just as he has with her.

 

“I’m yours, Jon Snow, in this moment and beyond. My heart belongs to you.” The ignited elation on his face is enough to make Daenerys wish they could stay on this boat forever, to live in this moment of bliss they have created for themselves. Alas, she knows that sailing away together is not an option. But perhaps, while they fight and stumble through the wars to come, they can do it together, truly, through a union stronger than just allies; a union of truth and love and support, a marriage that would unite the realm and bring happiness to their hearts. She knows they both deserve to find peace in this life, and the more she finds herself enamoured with Jon, the more she knows and understands that without him, peace will not find her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it. ❤ 
> 
> Let me know what you think, I'm kinda nervous. 
> 
> Also, come say hi on tumblr, i'm through-my-shadow :)


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